


Upstairs and Downstairs and In My Lady's Chamber

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-27
Updated: 2005-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy/Hermione (the Draco/Harry is incidental). PWP. OOC. Various other abbreviations, including IJWIFKFHB (I Just Wrote It For Kate For Her Birthday).</p><p>Dedicated to Kate (saikogrrl); a very happy birthday to my favourite Ravenclaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upstairs and Downstairs and In My Lady's Chamber

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

It's no secret that Draco Malfoy is fucking Harry Potter. Indeed, you can barely go anywhere in Hogwarts Castle without either catching the two of them in some secluded corner or other, or having the very strong feeling that you'd _almost_ caught them. They're indiscreet, passionate, noisy and careless, and it pisses Pansy off; not because this means that, as she's suspected since age twelve, Draco _is_ gay, but because they can get away with it when she can't. It's like the golden boy of Gryffindor is all-powerful and has converted Draco to the side of Light and Good and all that crap by seducing him, when Pansy knows for a fact that Draco is a wishy-washy little twat who'd never really been all that committed to the Dark anyway. Sure, she's unenthused by the Death Eaters herself, enough that she didn't get her Dark Mark when Draco got his, citing the fact that if they (_they_ meaning the other students or the teachers at Hogwarts) caught her, things would become quite difficult.

Not like they aren't difficult enough anyway. Draco never got around to doing his job, and now Snape has vanished, but instead of being vilified, Draco's getting idolised for Being a Brave Soul, and Not Giving In To The Dark.

His mother has disappeared.

But Draco's story is none of Pansy's concern. It's just a passing thought to keep her occupied as she waits on the upper level of the library, sitting on the floor that overhangs the lower level, dangling her legs through the wooden railings, the ancient green carpet prickly against her skin. Her skirt is bunched around her thighs (unintentionally, at least at the moment), and if anyone looks up here and spots her she'll probably get in trouble, partly because she's meant to be studying and partly because she isn't wearing underwear.

She swings her legs idly and waits for Granger to come in and sit down at the table directly below her. It's the spot where Granger always sits, tucked away in a corner, where the winter's cold sunlight comes in through the window and turns her brown hair into something spun out of gold. Downstairs is the busy place, but it has its quieter places. Upstairs is where the books that hardly anyone ever uses reside, and it smells like dust, but there is sunshine here as well, warm on Pansy's back.

Pansy isn't sure exactly what it is she's waiting for. For Granger to look up and see her, one of these days, maybe. For Granger to come up the spiralling wooden stairs with their wrought-iron handrail, through the spill of sunlight that stripes the library (until three in the afternoon, when the angle is wrong, anyway), and sit down beside her... and then what? Start up a game of wizarding chess? Ask her for tips on Arithmancy? Strip her down and fuck her senseless on the floor?

The possibilities are endless.

Granger comes into the library, doesn't look up, and seats herself at the table. Soon she is engrossed in her latest essay, fingers flecked with ink, intent upon her work. Pansy pulls her legs back up, sits cross-legged, leaning forward, as if Granger is a fascinating artwork to be studied in-depth for hours. Which she is, in a way; from the way her lips purse so that she can blow errant strands of hair out of her face, to the way the long feather on her quill brushes her cheek, every second brings something new for Pansy to look at.

Pansy doesn't even realise that she's got her fingers pressed tight against her clitoris until just before she comes. As she bites the inside of her mouth to keep from making any noise, Granger licks her lips, and the thoughts that _that_ triggers almost set Pansy off again.

She dries her fingers and herself on a handkerchief that _was_ clean and pressed a moment ago, stands up to leave the library before she does anything else that she shouldn't really be doing in public, and -

\- drops the handkerchief.

Paralysed, Pansy watches the white cotton scrap drop directly onto Granger's parchment, watches Granger immediately snap her head up. Their eyes meet, but it's not like anything out of a romantic novel. Granger looks surprised to see Pansy there. Pansy can feel her cheeks burning and hates herself for it. Slytherins aren't supposed to blush. They're certainly not supposed to fantasise about Gryffindors, even with Draco and Potter setting a new precedent on that front.

'Did you drop this?' Granger asks.

'Maybe,' Pansy says.

Granger sighs, stands up, tosses her hair back, and picks the handkerchief up before Pansy can tell her not to (or _not_ tell her not to, even). She climbs the stairs, her shoes making precise thudding sounds in the centre of each step, and holds the handkerchief out to Pansy, who takes it and says, 'Sorry,' without thinking about it.

'That's all right.' Granger turns to go back downstairs. 'You smell interesting, by the way,' she adds. 'I wonder if you taste as good as you smell?'

Pansy is left there, mouth hanging half-open, and doesn't even realise Granger has gone until the library door closes behind her.

That's how it starts.

* * *

How it continues is like this: Pansy is in the library again three days later, this time sitting behind the shelf the farthest from the door so that she can't even hear it open to speculate about whether Granger has just come in. She actually does need to study, and the Slytherin common room is not a good place to be if studying is on your agenda. Crabbe and Goyle are in there all the time now that Draco's got Potter, and they _mope_, and she can't stand it. Here at least it is quiet, even if she can't really concentrate. A lot of the other seventh-years have gone off to Hogsmeade today anyway, but Pansy's _over_ Hogsmeade; there are only so many times one can treat Butterbeer as a novelty, after all.

There's a faint chill coming through the window behind her, even though it's closed, and she thinks there will be snow by dinnertime. Snow, or rather more snow; there was a flurry this morning that the first-years ran around in, but it didn't stick.

The Arithmancy concepts are more engrossing than she'd initially thought, and she's sitting there, head bent over her parchment, probably looking quite a bit like Granger herself, when she feels a light unexpected touch on her shoulders and damn near jumps through the ceiling.

'Shit!' she gasps, heartbeat racing, and she looks up to see Granger standing there, a blue woollen shawl in her hands, an amused look on her face.

'Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you,' Granger says, when from the look of it it seems that's exactly what she _did_ intend. 'You looked cold. Let's try this again.' She settles the shawl across Pansy's back and drapes the ends of it over her shoulders, then steps back. 'There. Now you won't freeze in the draught.' She pulls out the chair next to Pansy, picks her book bag up from the floor, sits down, and starts sorting through it, pulling out her quill, a piece of parchment that's already half-filled with an essay, and three books, laying everything out as neatly as she does when she's settling in for a good solid afternoon of work.

'What _are_ you doing?' Pansy asks, meaning it to come out snarky and unwelcoming, and disappointed when it doesn't.

Granger looks at her like she's just asked if Granger knows the secret to world peace. '_Studying_.'

They sit there in silence. Granger starts writing. Pansy stops being dumbfounded and turns a page in her textbook a couple of times just for the look of the thing, but she's thinking faster than ever before and nearly jumps through the roof again when Granger speaks to her.

'Can I borrow your Arithmancy textbook?'

'Why?' Pansy snarls defensively.

Granger - incredibly - smiles. 'That's my girl,' she says, and Pansy snaps. The shawl goes flying as she shoves her chair backwards; she grabs Granger's wrist and tows her along the aisle, up the stairs, to the furthest dark back corner of the library - and then stops, not quite sure what to do now.

'What the hell is this about, Mudblood?' she hisses finally. 'What you said the other day about _smelling_ me?'

Granger pulls her wrist free of Pansy's grip. 'You did drop your rather distinctively scented handkerchief on my Potions essay,' she points out. 'There's not much that can be mistaken for that smell. And judging by how untidy and flushed you looked, there was a good reason it smelled like that. So you tell _me_, _Slytherin_, what the hell this is all about?'

Pansy can't talk, so instead of talking she kind of lunges forward and pins Granger against the wall with her body. Her breasts press against Granger's, her hands lock around Granger's wrists, and she has time to give Granger an angry glare before lowering her head and biting at the side of Granger's throat, aiming not to hurt but to mark, to own. She does not like not being in control.

When she draws back to examine her handiwork, Granger is breathing hard, but not yet fully worked up. Worse, she is smiling; just enough to turn the corners of her lips up and make her eyes shine, but Pansy wants to make the smile go away. She lets go of Granger's wrist with her left hand to unbutton Granger's shirt, pushing the buttons through the holes roughly, yanking the shirt off Granger's shoulders fast enough to draw a gasp from Granger's throat. She puts her lips back against Granger's throat and nips her way down to the tops of Granger's breasts, exposed smooth and pale above Granger's white (and lacy) bra.

'If that's in your way, I can-' Granger starts, and Pansy turns her around, pulling the shirt the rest of the way off, unhooks the bra and pulls _that_ off, and then puts her arms around Granger, cupping one breast in each hand. She finds that Granger's shoulders are quite easy to mark, and the fact that Granger reacts strongly to being marked - moaning, and pressing hard against Pansy's roving mouth - does not escape her. She keeps Granger there, caught in her embrace, her fingers working on Granger's breasts, until Granger's breathing quickens and her whole body starts to tense up -

\- then stops, letting Granger go entirely and taking two quick steps backwards, watching Granger fall sideways, only managing to catch herself with one hand shooting out to grasp the edge of the nearest bookshelf.

'Time for dinner,' Pansy says casually, turning to begin walking away.

'What - _what_ -'

'Dinner. You know, that meal you eat at the end of the day. Didn't you hear the bell?' She glances back over her shoulder; Granger, dishevelled, is no longer smiling, not even just a little bit.

* * *

It ends where it started and where it's supposed to end, of course. Granger comes into the library the next morning and walks straight up the stairs to where Pansy is sitting on the floor, looking down between the wooden bars at all the comings and goings of the library.

Without a word Pansy gets to her feet and jerks her head towards the end of the nearest aisle, where the window is, and where - more importantly - the window-seat is. She arranges Granger to her liking on the faded green cushion there. That annoying bloody smile is back on Granger's face.

'You don't like not being in control, do you?' she asks.

Pansy growls and yanks on Granger's shirt hard enough that the top button pops off and skitters down the aisle, then undoes the remaining buttons a little more decorously, only pausing for the briefest of surprised seconds when she realises Granger's not wearing a bra underneath. Then she pushes Granger's skirt up, bunching it around Granger's waist.

'_Somebody_ was wanting this,' she says, staring down at what else Granger isn't wearing.

'It's in the interest of improving inter-House relationships,' Granger says coyly.

Pansy just bites her again, this time on the thigh, and most definitely leaving a livid mark. From the way Granger arches against her mouth, though, she can tell that she likes it. She works her way inward, hands settling on Granger's thighs to hold her open, going to one knee in front of the window-seat, tongue tracing slow patterns on Granger's skin, teasing closer and closer.

'You're not going to stop again, are you?'

'I wouldn't deprive myself,' Pansy says before leaning back in and delicately licking Granger's clitoris.

It's funny how Mudblood tastes just as good as pureblood.

She can tell that Granger is making a real effort not to scream. Granger's heels are drumming against the floor, and Granger's fingers are tangled in Pansy's hair, and Pansy grins to herself and slips two fingers inside to complement the tongue action. Honestly, she feels that Granger must never have had an orgasm before, judging by the way she's going off. It's a regular fireworks display, only without the sparkly lights and the risk of burning one's fingers. Although Granger is rather hot, physically speaking, and in more than one sense.

Eventually, Pansy gets up, wipes off her mouth (on a fresh handkerchief, naturally), and helps Granger rearrange her clothes. Granger is grinning idiotically. It's an improvement over the smug little smile, or at least Pansy thinks so.

'Come on,' says Pansy, when she judges that Granger's had enough time to recover, 'back to studying.'

'Don't you want me to return the favour?'

'Oh, now, we don't want to rush into this all at once. That wouldn't be in the spirit of improving inter-House relationships, would it? Not if we do everything all at once.' Pansy stands up and offers Granger a hand up. 'But I'll let you borrow my Arithmancy book today, and tomorrow we'll eat lunch together, and within a week we'll be the new Draco and Potter.'

Granger doesn't let go of her hand once she's up. 'I like the sound of that.'

And that's how it _starts_.


End file.
